


Lost and Found

by Castiron



Category: Louisa May Alcott - An Old Fashioned Girl, Mary Russell - King
Genre: Gen, Yuletide, challenge:Yuletide 2005, recipient:Melody
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2005-12-25
Updated: 2005-12-25
Packaged: 2017-10-03 04:12:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,985
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14063
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Castiron/pseuds/Castiron
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff"><p>One of Melody's Yuletide requests, our official match, was <cite>An Old-Fashioned Girl</cite>; another was a story involving Ali and Mahmood Hazr from Laurie King's Mary Russell/Sherlock Holmes stories.  If one assumes that <cite>An Old-Fashioned Girl</cite> begins around its publication year, then it's actually quite plausible that the characters' timelines overlap.  So I wrote both.</p></blockquote>





	Lost and Found

Fanny Sydney looked up from her letter at Arthur's entry. "I've been telling Polly that I finally feel like I'm having an adventure."

 

He kissed her cheek before opening his valise. "I'm grateful that you see it that way. I feared you found this hotel uncomfortable."

 

"Did I show it so much when we arrived? I own that when I was so tired from the journey, it looked impossibly primitive, but now that we have seen so many of the sights, it fits this place, and I sleep well even on the lumpy mattress." Her voice lowered as she thought of the other sights. "And there are so many homes in this city that look far worse. I see now why the church societies ask charity for these people. Arthur, can we afford to give to them after we return home?"

 

"My dear, of course we can." He brushed some dust from his jacket. "Our finances truly have recovered from the crash. And we can also afford for you to buy gifts for the family."

 

"I did think that the red and blue carpet would be a lovely gift for Polly and Tom, but I wasn't sure I should...."

 

Arthur chuckled. "For taking care of Belle, they deserve the carpet and a palace to put it in." He pulled out some money and gave it to her. "Buy them the carpet. Buy gifts for the children. And see if someone has a shawl like the one Philip and Tommy ruined. You so seldom wear pink anymore."

 

"I did see one that was similar." She looked in the mirror and sighed. Arthur's waist was thicker and his hair thinner than when they had married, but the lines around his eyes and mouth only made him look even more the gentleman that he was. On herself, the passage of years made her look, well, matronly. "That shawl with a dark dress would still look appropriate, I think."

 

"It would look lovely. I should very much like to see you in pink again."

 

This, Fanny thought as she kissed him, was one conversation she would leave out of her letter to Polly.

* * *

 

When their daughter Mary had left home for Laurence College, and Philip and Tom had enrolled in a boarding school, Arthur had declared that it was time for the two of them to take their long-awaited trip to Europe. Their youngest child Belle would stay with her aunt Maud and grandfather, and then travel to Ohio to visit Uncle Tom and Aunt Polly; Belle was as excited about this as Fanny was about finally seeing Europe.

 

Fanny and Arthur had spent several months touring the British Isles and the Continent. And one day, they met an English acquaintance of Arthur's; Mr. Vaughn was taking a group to Palestine, and he invited them to join him. Arthur had at first declined, but seeing that Fanny was fascinated by the idea, he finally agreed that they should go.

 

It had been amazing. In Jerusalem, Fanny had seen the very garden where Jesus had once walked alone before His crucifixion, the hill where He had died, the tomb where he had been buried. When they had left the city, she felt that she had been forever changed, and Arthur appeared to share the feeling.

 

This was the last day of their tour; tomorrow they would board a ship here in Jaffa and sail to France for a last month before returning home. But today, they would visit the markets and see treasures from around the world.

* * *

 

After Fanny had smoothed her hair and fixed Arthur's collar, they went down to meet their companions. The touring party was mostly English, and Fanny was finding their companions almost as interesting as the country. Mr. Vaughn, tall and gray-blond, joked and laughed with everyone. Mr. and Mrs. Stark, a middle-aged couple, rarely talked to anyone but each other, except when a deck of cards was produced and they immediately began teaching everyone obscure games that they alone had heard of. Miss Lennox and Miss Agatha Lennox, elderly sisters, were studying the housing conditions among the poor but would only discuss them when pressed; to Fanny's surprise, they were far more interested in discussing cricket, and were able to explain the game so that Fanny understood it for the first time. Mr. Hasard, a young man who looked barely older than Philip and Tom, was unfailingly polite but usually held himself aloof from the conversation; his brightly colored waistcoats seemed to speak for him. Mr. and Mrs. Crawford, on learning her Christian name, continually addressed Fanny as Miss Price or Mrs. Bertram; Fanny had set Mansfield Park aside many years ago in disgust, but Arthur said that she might find it more worth reading now. Mr. and Mrs. Talbot seemed near Fanny's age; Mr. Talbot was rather vehement in his piety, but Mrs. Talbot would laugh at rude jokes when her husband wasn't around. She was the one who had told Fanny, on learning that Mary went to Laurence College, that Mr. Vaughn had been jilted by the founder's wife.

 

He did not, to Fanny's eye, appear to mind anymore; he was cordial to all the ladies, and on occasion he appeared to genuinely regret the absence of Mrs. Vaughn. "Come," he now said, "the market awaits!

* * *

 

Fanny didn't know how she had gotten separated from her companions. She had been bargaining for the shawl, giving the numbers in broken Turkish, and had succeeded in paying far less for it than she had originally intended, though she was certain their guide would scoff at the exorbitant amount. When she finished, she discovered that the others were nowhere to be seen.

 

She sighed and turned back to the merchant. "King's Arms Hotel?"

 

The merchant chattered for long minutes in Turkish, gesturing mostly to Fanny's left. Fanny attempted to follow the signed instructions and was soon hopelessly lost.

 

Two further attempts to ask directions led her to more and more unfamiliar areas.

 

She clutched her parcels closer as darkness began to fall.

* * *

 

Fanny had heard of people who were lost but found their hotel unmolested. Alas, the men waiting at the end of the dark street prevented that.

 

She backed away, shuddering, as the men approached. One of them spat some guttural phrase at her, which made the other men laugh. Another man pawed at her packages, then tried to reach for her purse. Fanny swung at him, trying to remember a thousand scuffles she'd witnessed between Philip and Tom. But these men were not young boys wrestling.

 

Suddenly a figure clad in a dirty robe stood before her, his back to her and a curved knife in his hand. The ruffians laughed, until the figure's arm moved swiftly -- one, two, three, and Fanny closed her eyes as a man's voice barked at the ruffians.

 

When she opened her eyes, two ruffians lay on the ground, and the remainder were slinking away.

 

The strange man had picked up her parcels and was holding them out to her. "You should not be out alone at night." His English was accented, though not like the accent of the local guide.

 

"I was separated from my party and have been trying ever since to find my way back to the King's Arms Hotel."

 

He nodded. "I know where it lies. I shall take you there."

 

As they picked their way around street refuse, Fanny decided that no, adventures were truly not for her.

 

Their walk was long and silent; as the fear ebbed, Fanny's cheeks flushed.

 

At last, she burst out, "I should never have insisted we come here. I always wanted to see where Christ walked and Solomon built his temple, but had I yielded to Arthur, we would have remained safely with friends in Europe. I am very sorry."

 

The man did not speak; Fanny clenched her jaw and silently berated herself.

 

A few minutes later, he spoke. "Do not be sorry. Never be sorry to have loved this land."

* * *

 

When they arrived at the hotel, Arthur was pacing around the lobby. He raced forward and seized her hand. "Fanny! Dearest Fanny, you are bleeding!"

 

She looked down. Blood indeed stained the top package, as well as her dress.

 

"Do not fear," the man said. "She is unharmed." He took the top package from the pile, unwrapping it and shaking his head over the bloodstains on the shawl. "Do you recall what was on either side of the stall?"

 

Fanny found her knees beginning to shake, but she forced calm into her voice. "It was between a fruit seller's and a store with copperwares."

 

"The shawl is likely ruined, but if it can be saved, I have a friend here who will do it." He bowed to Arthur, and now his accent sounded almost English. "Sir, I suggest that you take your wife to your rooms that she may recover from this evening. No," he added as Arthur started to speak, "we will discuss the matter later."

 

As Fanny and Arthur ascended the stairs, she thought she heard a faint cry from the game room. "Marsh!"

 

Perhaps it was another of Mr. and Mrs. Stark's card games.

* * *

 

In their room, Arthur helped her remove her garments and sponge away the blood. When she was clean and wrapped in a fresh nightgown and robe, Arthur tucked her into the bed and sat holding her hand. "I have not feared for you so much since Emma was born," he whispered.

 

Fanny gripped his hand and gazed at him. "I am very glad that we will have more time together."

 

He said no more, but lay down beside her and brought her head to rest on his chest.

* * *

 

A knock on the door woke Fanny from her doze. Arthur went to the door and opened it, accepted a package, and closed it. "Our stranger seems to have kept his word."

 

The bloodstains were indeed removed from the shawl, but the pattern had run and the fabric felt rougher. A note on top said, "I could not do better. I am sorry."

 

Fanny suddenly pushed the shawl away, shaking again. "I don't want to see it."

 

Arthur nodded and kissed her as he bundled up the shawl. "Very well."

 

He was gone only a few minutes, and on his return he firmly locked the door and again crawled into bed beside her.

 

"We shall find you another shawl in France," Arthur said firmly. "I should very much like to see you wearing pink; I remember how beautiful you were in that pink dress you used to wear."

 

She still had the remains of that dress, safely stowed in a trunk in the attic. "I am no longer beautiful, but I am glad you remember when I was."

 

Arthur's palms suddenly embraced her face, and he gazed into her eyes. "You were beautiful like spring then. You are beautiful like summer now. God willing, we will both see you beautiful as winter."

 

And by the end of the night, Fanny had almost forgotten the terrifying events of the day.

* * *

 

The next morning, they waited in the lobby for the carriage. In one of the side parlors, Fanny could see Mr. Hasard and a strange man who looked much like him; Mrs. Talbot whispered that he was a cousin who Mr. Hasard had come here looking for, and that they would return to England on a later ship.

 

A few minutes later, the two young men walked out of the hotel; Mr. Hasard lifted his hat, but his companion paused, bowed, and handed her a package.

 

The carriage arrived before Fanny could inquire, and in moments the two men were gone.

 

On the carriage, Fanny unwrapped the parcel. Inside lay another shawl, nearly identical to the ruined one but even lovelier, with a small unsigned note that said,

 

"Never be sorry."

END

**Author's Note:**

> One of Melody's Yuletide requests, our official match, was An Old-Fashioned Girl; another was a story involving Ali and Mahmood Hazr from Laurie King's Mary Russell/Sherlock Holmes stories. If one assumes that An Old-Fashioned Girl begins around its publication year, then it's actually quite plausible that the characters' timelines overlap. So I wrote both.


End file.
